


The Vacation That Wasn’t

by MsMelancholy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale, California, Crowley (Good Omens) is Not Crowley (Supernatural), Crowley Whump, F/M, Guns, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Its 2:03 am and I just realized how late it is, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Self-Sacrificing Crowley, Stressed Aziraphale, Stressed Crowley, Violence, and bad things happen, and watching good omens for the 100th Time isn’t going to cut it, hurt aziraphale, i just need an excuse to not be asleep, injured crowley, per usual, they go on vacation, this is bad I’m sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 16:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMelancholy/pseuds/MsMelancholy
Summary: “Crowley had paid for a week long vacation in America for Aziraphale. He’d seen the worry lines etched into the angel’s face and the way his hands shook with barely muted exhaustion when he finally decided that both of them needed a break.They were still on edge following the Armageddon-that-wasn’t. Aziraphale thinking that somehow the apocalypse would be jump started again and Crowley thinking that Heaven and Hell (or maybe both) would come to take Aziraphale away from him.”[Or: Crowley just wants a break.]





	The Vacation That Wasn’t

**Author's Note:**

> It’s 2:06 am right now and I literally just finished writing this??? Even worse is I just wrote that other fic about Zira being jealous and then started writing this one like 10 minutes later. Someone stop me before someone from school finds me out.

Aziraphale thought it was amazing. Crowley hated it. The way he could tell when something bad was going to happen seconds or even minutes before it took place. 

He’d known that the Titanic was going to go down approximately 50 minutes before the Titanic struck that iceberg. 50 minutes couldn’t save everyone, but he’d saved countless families (and Aziraphale) just because of a gut feeling. 

It happened again in 1986 when he was watching the Challenger space shuttle liftoff on TV. Even though he was in London at the time and there was no possible way for him to have saved anyone, he still drunk himself into a stupor following the explosion.

Aziraphale had argued many times that it was Crowley’s serpentine instincts being multiplied by his supernatural powers. Crowley pretended to agree, but deep down he believed it was because of his demonic nature. Demons caused trouble. It was part of the job description. So it was completely plausible that they would be able to sense when atrocities were about to take place.

Crowley had paid for a week long vacation in America for Aziraphale. He’d seen the worry lines etched into the angel’s face and the way his hands shook with barely muted exhaustion when he finally decided that both of them needed a break.

They were still on edge following the Armageddon-that-wasn’t. Aziraphale thinking that somehow the apocalypse would be jump started again and Crowley thinking that Heaven and Hell (or maybe both) would come to take Aziraphale away from him.

California was everything that he thought it would be— potheads and all. The beaches were big and crowded and  _ so  _ alive. It was overwhelming in a good way. Neither Crowley or Aziraphale knew what to do first.

Of course Aziraphale had pointed out every restaurant he could see on the bus ride to the hotel. He bubbled on about Gordon Ramsay and how Hell’s Kitchen was supposed to be somewhere in Los Angeles. Crowley just listened along until the shuttle pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. A bellboy took their bags and loaded them onto a cart before taking them to where their room must have been.

“Crowley, dear, do you have any idea why it’s so crowded?” Aziraphale asked once he nearly tripped over a small girl trailing behind her mother. 

“I think there’s a convention in town. Either that or a concert.” Crowley shrugged.

They were holding hands while Crowley weaved his way through crowds of people. There were more people entering the building by the minute and Crowley was determined to get to the elevator before they got stampeded.

The elevator was miraculously empty save for a young couple who couldn’t have been much older than 20. Their wedding rings still glistened on their fingers like the sun itself was on earth. 

“Here on your honeymoon?” Aziraphale asked gently. 

“Yes!” The woman smiled brightly. “We’re from New York, but I really wanted to visit California for our honeymoon.”

“Even though I think she deserves more than little ol’ California.” The man chuckled, holding the woman close to him.

“I’m Alondra by the way.” The orange haired woman greeted. “This is Jackson.”

The raven haired man waved shyly.

“I’m Aziraphale.” He greeted. “And this is—”

“Anthony.” Crowley offered a chaste smile. “And I know Aziraphale is a mouthful. Call him Az, or Zira. This old bugger is too proper for his own good.”

The couple whooped with laughter, quite enjoying the strange British couple. If Aziraphale made the elevator go a little slower than usual, no one noticed it.

Migraines weren’t unfamiliar to Crowley. They were recurring over the millennia, becoming much more prevalent in recent years likely as a result of the stress of trying to save the entire planet. So when it suddenly felt like someone had dropped a boulder on his head, he thought nothing more than he must be dealing with a post-Armageddon migraine.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale questioned as they stepped out of the elevator, waving their newfound friends goodbye. “You look pale, dear boy.”

“M’ fine.” He replied dizzily, focusing on remaining upright. “Just a headache.”

Aziraphale knew that Crowley was either overdramatic or not dramatic enough. So ‘just a headache’ probably meant ‘I’m going to pass out in a few minutes’. 

Crowley’s migraine seemed to get worse as they got closer to their room. Aziraphale practically shoved the door open and walked Crowley over to the bed where the demon flopped onto it face first. The cool blankets offered a little relief from the pain, but it was better than nothing.

“Shit—” Crowley cursed as his head spun. “Something’s wrong.” 

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale’s hands rubbed calming circles in Crowley’s back. He’d long since become fluent in understanding Crowley when his face was smashed into a pillow or a blanket or in this case the mattress of their hotel room bed.

“I mean something’s  _ wrong _ .” Crowley grunted. “I don’t know, but something bad is going to happen.”

Aziraphale frowned. He knew better than to doubt Crowley when he got like this. Especially when Crowley seemed to be in so much pain. He hadn’t gotten a feeling this bad since the Titanic. Maybe even WWII.

“We’re supposed to go out today.” Crowley whimpered. He’d deny any accusations that he’d whimpered. Demons don’t whimper. 

“There’s so much to do here at the hotel.” The angel gasped as he flipped through a pamphlet the hotel had sitting on the bedside desk. “Maybe we could stay here for the day and explore the city tomorrow?” 

“Sounds good to me.” Crowley flipped onto his back, resting the waters. The feeling of dread began to ease away. He ran a hand through his hair, already beginning to feel better.

The demon had begun to grow his hair out since they thwarted the apocalypse. All it really took was Aziraphale drunkenly mumbling something about missing his long hair before Crowley decided that he would never cut his hair again. After a couple of months, he’d managed to grow it out to chin length.

Aziraphale spotted complimentary warm cookies on the counter and wasted no time in unwrapping them and indulging himself in a quick snack.

“What do you want to do first?” Crowley interrupted Aziraphale’s massacre of the macadamia nut cookies. “I saw there was a bike rental shop in the lobby.”

“Mm, I was thinking the same thing. Either that or paddle boats.” Aziraphale finished off the cookies. 

“Well we’d have to head to the lobby to rent either one, so let’s just decide on the way.” Crowley pushed himself off of the bed. 

One thing Crowley prided himself on when it came to this trip was their outfits. A majority of the outfit he chose were either matching outfits or something cliche and touristy. 

Currently, Crowley was wearing a shirt that read ‘ _ if lost return to Aziraphale’  _ and Aziraphale’s read ‘ _ I’m Aziraphale’.  _ Aziraphale was also wearing a fanny pack filled with different emergency items because if he knew one thing, it was that they were accident prone.

Crowley and Aziraphale were pleasantly surprised to find a crowd of people surrounding the entrance of the elevator and the neighboring stairwell. There were people from every walk of life, a few shouting very choice words at whoever was preventing them from descending the stairs. Crowley, with Aziraphale’s hand clutched in his, shoved his way to the front of the herd of people.

“Sir, don’t make me tell you again. The elevators are out of order until further notice and I have strict orders not to let anyone into this stairway.” The man, dressed in one of the hotel security uniforms, practically spat at everyone in the front row. 

“That’s bullshit! We have places to be!” A buff man shouted angrily. Crowley recognized it to be Jackson, the young man from the elevator. 

“Ah, Mr. Anthony! Mr. Aziraphale!” Alondra spotted Crowley before she noticed Aziraphale trailing closely behind him.

“What’s happening?” Crowley questioned. The security guard stepped into the stairwell, speaking to someone on the other end of a walkie talkie. 

“Jackson and I were going out for drinks and came down to ask if you two would like to join us.” Alondra began, squeezing Jackson’s hand in her own in an attempt to calm his anger. “But I left my purse upstairs. When we turned around to get back in the elevator, it said it was out of service. We tried taking the stairs and the guard told us that no one was allowed through.”

The guard stepped back into the main hallway and was immediately bombarded by the same patrons as before who still stubbornly refused to return to their room. Other residents were peeking out of their doors to see what all the commotion was about.

“I swear, if one more move and you leave me no choice!” The guard threatened, hand on the holster of his gun. 

A few people eased off, put off by the threat. There were still a handful of people who must have believed the gun was fake or a stun gun because they began trying to force their way past the guard.

“Wait—!” Crowley surged forward as the Crowd shifted. 

Multiple shots rang out and Crowley was suddenly face to face with the knowledge that the gun was definitely  _ not _ a stun gun. Thank someone for Crowley’s obsession with wearing black. His black long sleeves hid most of the bleeding and the fact that there was a bullet embedded in his shoulder. 

The crowd shrunk back, away from the out of control security guard. 

Alondra and Jackson had taken a seat somewhere nearby and dragged Crowley and Aziraphale with them. The couple turned to one another, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. Crowley and Aziraphale tried to deduce a way out of the sticky predicament they were in.

“Crowley, he doesn’t work here.” Aziraphale whispered softly. “Look at the uniform. The security guard downstairs was wearing all black and had the hotel logo on his shirt. That’s a cheap knockoff.” 

Crowley scanned the man and cursed under his breath. It explained why he had an actual gun as opposed to a taser or something else not as lethal. A crying child nearby pulled Crowley out of his thoughts. 

A boy, maybe 9 or 10 had caught a bullet in the leg. His wails of pain made Crowley’s heart tremble. Crowley tried to move his right arm to miracle the child’s wound away, but found that he couldn’t move his arm. His fingers barely moved, uncoordinated and noncommittal.

“Angel, he’s hurt.” Crowley begged. “We have to do something.”

Aziraphale could practically cry at the heartbroken expression on the demon's face. If Aziraphale hadn’t known Crowley for 6000 years, he would have been startled to see so much raw emotion on the face of a demon. But as it was, he’d seen much more sorrow and joy and anger and fear on the demon’s face. 

The angel closed his eyes and focused on miracling the bullet from the boy’s leg first. Once he was sure that it was gone, he mended the broken bone before healing the wound over completely. The child’s ears stopped and his father inspected where the wound had been with confusion, but mute acceptance.

Crowley, already exhausted from his own wound, couldn’t do much more than heal small wounds and grazes that other people had. Thankfully onto two other people had been shot and both were non fatal, so Aziraphale managed to heal them with little effort. Although, the angel looked a little more than tired once he was finished.

“Thank you.” Crowley said once Aziraphale took a seat beside him, leaning against the wall. The redhead imagined that every bit of his power wasn’t seeping out of a bullet wound and instead miracled some of his own power into Aziraphale. 

It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to notice what Crowley had done. 

“My dear, you didn’t have to do that.” Aziraphale muttered softly. 

“Think of it as a thank you gift.” Crowley joked. “I have an idea.”

“What did you have in mind?” Zira powered his voice to just below a whisper, only something Crowley could hear.

“There’s another staircase on this floor. On the other side of the building. If I can stop the guard’s time long enough for everyone to get there, then we can get to the lobby and go from there.”

“How long can you stop time for?” 

“Long enough?” Crowley lied. He wasn’t even sure he could stop time at all, but it was a gamble he had to take. “I’m going to count to three and the second tie stops, you have to lead everyone to the other staircase.”

“What about you?” Aziraphale’s voice dripped with concern.

“I’ll stay at the back of the group. That way I can help any stragglers or deal with the guard if need be.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale said warily. “Don’t do anything stupid. I expect to see you in the lobby, do you understand me, Crowley?”

“Loud and clear, angel.” Crowley grimaced as he stood.

His vision swam and bile rose to his throat, but he swallowed it and blinked his watery vision away. Slowly, he counted to three and on the third second, he made eye contact with Aziraphale and nodded. Multiple things happened at once. 

First, the guard seemed to freeze in place, the space around him taking on the static look of a television on the wrong channel. Then, Aziraphale bolted upright and shouted for everyone to follow him to the other stairwell. Nearly everyone followed, yet there were a few wary stragglers who ran to their rooms to grab personal belongings before rushing back out into the hallway and following the angel. 

It took everything in Crowley not to keel over right there and die. He swayed on his feet, using his working arm to keep the guard frozen in time. His legs refused to obey him and as he attempted to turn and make his way down the hallway, he collapsed against the wall.

His free arm shot up to hold his shoulder which burned like someone had poured holy water into the wound. The guard was released from his trance and he glanced around the room confused you before his eyes landed on the demon.

“What the fuck happened!?” He cursed, aiming his gun at the demon.

“Piss off.” Crowley cursed, his saliva tasting bloody at the seconds passed.

“Don’t play with me, man. Where the fuck did they all go?”

“Dunno.” Crowley slurred.

The guard rushed over in an angry flurry, kicking Crowley onto his side and grinding his foot into the shoulder wound. Crowley cried out in pain, scrambling at the man's pant leg in an attempt to get him to release his foot.

The man pulled his foot off and hauled Crowley to his feet by his hair. Crowley clawed at anything he could get his hands on as he tried to get free.

“I don’t think you fucking understand. The boss doesn’t do failures. If I tell him that everyone on this floor fucking  _ escaped  _ then I’m screwed. I’ll be the one dead! So, you’re going to tell me where the fuck they went or I’m going to blow your god damn brains out.” 

“Fuck...you—” Crowley spat blood onto the carpet. 

His head hurt. The pain in his shoulder had flared up so bad that he couldn’t tell if he’d gone numb or if it burned that bad. Every time he closed his eyes, the man would violently shake him before prompting him again with the same stupid question. The 7th time, the man finally got fed up and shoved Crowley away from him. 

“You’ve got three seconds before I shoot you in the fuckin’ leg.” The man stated fully, cocking the gun and aiming it at Crowley’s leg.

“Be my guest.” Crowley tempted.

He cried out in pain as the man made do with his promise and shot Crowley in the knee. Maybe his kneecap had been obliterated. Or maybe the bullet had gone through his entire leg. Crowley could barely process what was going on anymore because his brain was yelling at him about how much pain he was in. He knew that, thank you very much.

The room was suddenly engulfed with a heavenly aura that only an angel could have. Crowley’s glazed over eyes landed on a flaming sword. It couldn’t possibly be  _ the  _ flaming sword right? That nice postman had come and picked it up the night of the apocalypse-that-wasn’t. 

But there he was, The Principality Aziraphale in all his glory, flaming sword and all. Aziraphale slowly are his way to the guard, holding the sword up to the man’s throat. Crowley could smell the man's flesh sizzle because of too close fire. 

“Hey man, this wasn’t my idea! I just work for the boss! A friend told me that the heists pay good money and I got sucked in!”

** _“Of course. Monkey see, monkey do.”_ ** Aziraphale’s voice was so far from human. It reverberated along the walls at a frequency that wasn’t meant to be audible to the human ear. Yet the human man shook and trembled all the same.  ** _“Why shouldn’t I kill you right now?”_ **

“Because— because if you kill me, you’ll never find out who’s behind this! Yeah yeah! I know everything. I can testify!” The man pleaded with whatever god there was that Aziraphale would spare him.

It seemed that God was on his side. Aziraphale put the flaming sword out, tossing it to the side. His heavenly aura faded away— or rather he absorbed it again and it returned deep down inside of him where it would stay until further notice.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped in realization, turning over his shoulder and rushing to the injured demon. “What did I say about doing something stupid?”

“Don’ cry.” Crowley muttered, using his working arm to wipe the angel’s tears away. “M’ okay.”

Aziraphale shook his head, lifting Crowley into his arms. With a snap, they were in their little cottage back in the other side of the North Atlantic Ocean. 

The angel’s arms shook with exhaustion from teleporting such a far distance and it took everything in him to hold Crowley, who had passed out in his arms. He placed Crowley in their bed, snapping his fingers to speed up the healing process and remove the two bullet shells in his skin. Angels couldn’t heal demons the way they healed humans. They could aid with process and prevent infection, but they couldn’t completely heal the wounds the way the did with humans.

Aziraphale barely lasted 3 seconds before he crawled under the covers and allowed sleep to overtake him.

  
  
  
  


When Crowley awoke, the first thing he did was reach for Aziraphale, who wasn’t next to him. He sat up ramrod straight, eyes shooting across the room in an attempt to find the angel. Clambering out of the bed, Crowley stumbled his way out of the room and into the living room. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley croaked, voice dry and cracked. 

The missing angel poked his head into the room, standing in the backyard. When his eyes landed on Crowley, he rushed into the room, closing the back door behind him. He held a watering can in one hand, but dropped it in favor of engulfing Crowley in a hug and leading him to their couch.

“My dear, how do you feel?”

“M’ fine. What happened? Is everyone alright?”

“Everyone on our floor survived. There were a few injuries, and...7 deaths throughout the other floors in the building.”

Crowley clutched the fabric of the couch in an attempt to ground himself. How was it that he could survive, but some innocent humans couldn’t? Here he was back at home without a scratch while there were some families that would never see their loved ones again. It wasn’t fair. 

“Crowley, there’s nothing we could have done. We were busy saving everyone on our floor when the others were killed.” Aziraphale soothed, rubbing calming circles into Crowley’s arms. “If you hadn’t done anything, many people on our floor would have died as well.”

Crowley gnawed on his bottom lip. Moments like these, he didn’t know what to say. His eyes burned with tears for people he didn’t know. For people who would never get to finish out their lives. Aziraphale held him silently as he cried.

“Alondra and Jackson are okay.” Aziraphale said softly once Crowley had calmed down. “I contacted them and told them we escaped safely and were on the first flight back to London.”

“That’s good.” Crowley nodded. “Maybe they can vacation here. We have a spare room for them. I’m sure they’d love Book Girl and her accident prone husband.”

“Anathema and Newt?”

“Yeah, them.”

“Of course. I’ll be sure to tell them they’re free to visit us whenever they’d like.” Aziraphale smiled softly as Crowley nuzzled against his chest, an attempt to absorb Zira’s warmth.

There were a few beats of silence before Crowley spoke.

“Next time, let’s just...sleep in if we need a vacation.”

“Agreed.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! 
> 
> I’m not 100% sure what inspired this story? I think I was just i the mood to Whump Crowley and thus this was born. I’m working on some not Hurt/Comfort but for now y’all will have to deal with all the Whump I’m doing. You’re welcome.
> 
> Kudos and Comments boost my confidence!!


End file.
